With A Smile
by scarylolita
Summary: The nogitsune wreaked havoc whilst in the form of Stiles Stilinski. The damage is done and everyone seems to be healing – everyone except for Stiles, who can't seem to rid himself of all the terrible memories. Sterek.


**Teen Wolf © Jeff Davis**

**More angsty drabble. Since I like Stiles-related sad stuff, I wanted to write something about his thoughts/feelings on Allison's death. Here we go! This takes place just after the season 3b finale~ I didn't feel like there was much inspirational material in season 4.****  
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* * *

Stiles Stilinski – small in size but large in life. Or at least, he used to be. Ever since the mess with the nogitsune, he's been feeling less himself lately. Everyone's been noticing – even the elusive Derek Hale.

Allison is dead. He knows it's not his truly fault, but he can't help but feel like it is. Why did the nogitsune have to go after him? It doesn't seem fair. Because of him, they've lost so much. They've lost things they'll never get back. Allison wasn't the only fatality. The thought of it all makes Stiles sick to his stomach with grief and guilt, no matter how many times Scott promises he doesn't blame him. Stiles doesn't quite believe him.

Nonetheless, Stiles will smile. He'll smile at all the right times. He'll smile when Scott makes a joke or when Lydia says something witty. He'll smile at Kira's charming yet awkward attempts not to let the conversation go down the wrong path. He'll smile when he sees her with Scott, because it means he's moving on. Pain comes, but it doesn't stay. It goes. Eventually. But is it really possible to forgive yourself for something you've inflicted upon another person? Stiles continues to ask himself that. He may not have killed anyone, but he can't deny his own two hands played a part. Is he allowed to forgive himself for it? Nobody has said it, but Stiles fears they're all thinking the same thing: It happened because he's weak.

Now he's alone in his room drinking in an attempt to bury his thoughts. Tears always find him when he's alone. He sits in his bed and numbs his mind. It's going well until his door creaks open. He hurries to hide the bottle beneath his bed covers and preparing for a mouthful from his father… but no. Instead, he sees Scott.

"Hey…" Scott murmurs, moving into the room.

Stiles waves at his friend, bottle in hand. "I'd offer you some, but werewolves can't get drunk so there isn't really a point, is there?"

"You shouldn't drink alone," Scott says. He takes a seat on the edge of Stiles' mattress. Part of him wants to reach forward and grab the bottle from his friend, but he won't. He knows it wouldn't be right to use his strength like that.

"I'm not alone," Stiles slurs and shrugs. "You're here now, aren't you?"

"I wasn't before…" Scott reasons slowly.

Stiles takes a long, cringe-worthy sip. "Ha…" he says humorlessly. "Gross."

"What the fuck, dude?" Scott asks, sighing. "Don't do this to yourself. Don't just drink to get drunk."

Stiles stares away, refusing eye contact. He's finding it too hard to face the alpha. "Why are you here, Scott?"

"I'm _worried_," Scott nearly exclaims, as if the answer should be obvious to the smaller teen. "We're all worried… Me, Kira, Lydia… Derek."

Stiles snorts. "Derek, huh?" He finds that funny. "Derek doesn't care about me, Scott. He tolerates me… Then again, maybe for him they mean the exact same thing."

Scott smiles somewhat sadly. He knows how Stiles feels about the older wolf. He's always known. Maybe it comes with being best friends – or maybe it's some kind of instinct. Either way, he knows. "He cares about you," he offers, though it's a weak sentiment. No one really knows what Derek Hale is thinking.

Stiles scoffs, taking another long swig. He winces as it burns down his throat. "Shit," he mutters, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

"I could tell you again… but it wouldn't matter, would it?" Scott asks vaguely. "Still, I will. I'm not mad at you, all right?"

"I know," Stiles says simply. His mind is fuzzy. He knows if he keeps drinking he'll either black out or throw up. Neither is really worse than the other. No matter what happens, he'll forget. No matter what happens, he'll be given a temporary distraction. It's all he really wants. "You don't have to always come and check on me, you know."

"You haven't been in school," Scott reminds him.

"Yeah…" Stiles slurs slowly.

"You were crying before I came inside," Scott adds.

"You heard," Stiles says with a bitter laugh. "Of course you did…"

"I know I haven't outright said it…" Scott starts, "but I forgive you. That's what you need to hear right? I didn't think I had to forgive you because I didn't think there was anything to forgive… but what I think doesn't matter. It's how you feel that matters. Right?"

Stiles' feels his lower lip tremble. He lets out a shaky sigh and says, "Oh."

"Are you okay?" Scott asks.

"Yeah," Stiles says, unceremoniously wiping his nose on his sleeve.

Scott only sighs, choosing now to leave. He stands up and puts a hand on Stiles' head briefly before exiting the room without another word. Stiles is once again left alone. After one more swig, the bottle is empty. He forces himself out of bed, stumbling almost immediately. He holds the wall, steadying himself before leaving the room. He holds the railings as he goes downstairs. Forgetting his shoes, he leaves the house.

His head feels heavy and foggy. He walks on the sidewalk, exiting his street and turning onto the main road. Part of him doesn't know where he's going. Another part of him knows exactly where he'll end up. It's something he's been meaning to do, but he always lacked the strength. With liquid courage running through his veins, it's almost easier this way.

Soon, he's as the graveyard. It doesn't take him long to find Allison's grave, even in his drunken stupor. He collapses in front of it.

"Sorry," he chokes out the apology. "I'm so, so sorry…"

He remembers it all too vividly. He remembers what it felt like. He remembers how badly he wanted to hurt his friends – to kill them. He remembers the sound of Lydia's agonized scream. It echoed. It's still echoing.

Stiles closes his eyes, bringing a palm up to cover his mouth. He lets out a sob, but tries hard to stifle it. No luck. He welcomes the water works.

* * *

Come night, Derek Hale dreams of familiar things.

"Why are you here?" Derek asks the teenager, who has grown to be a constant presence in his dreams as well as his wake.

Stiles simply shrugs. "Why are you asking me? This is your dream, after all."

"I thought you might be able to tell me."

"I could," the teenager says, tilting his head to the side as he muses, "but it's best if you realize it for yourself."

"What is there to realize?" Derek pries.

Stiles shrugs again. "Oh, you know… Things." His speaks airily, sounding unlike himself.

They stand in silence, but it isn't awkward. It's never awkward. This is when Derek realizes where they are. They're in Stiles' bedroom.

"My sanctuary," Stiles says with a laugh, taking a seat on the edge of his bed. He pats the spot next to him, wordlessly asking Derek to sit with him. The werewolf slowly does so and then it's tense. "You're always so far away," Stiles accuses. "Even now."

"What do you mean?" Derek asks.

Stiles turns to face the man. "Comes closer," he requests.

Derek shifts slowly, lessening the gap between their bodies.

"Closer…" Stiles says again.

Derek doesn't question him. Instead, he moves until their bodies are touching.

"Closer…" Stiles says one last time.

Knowingly, Derek leans forward and touches their lips together. It's quick and brief and when he draws back he asks, "Like this?"

"Like that," Stiles approves. "Do it again."

So Derek does. From there, it escalates until Stiles is exposed and Derek is hovering over him, exploring new parts of the teenager. Stiles moans, his nails digging into Derek's shoulders.

_Fuck me, Derek._

_Harder, Derek._

_Faster, Derek. _

When Derek wakes up, he feels guilty. He feels guilty for having dreamt of the innocent teenager in such a lewd position. "I need some fresh air," he mutters to himself, getting dressed before leaving. Outside, the air is cool. He welcomes it, taking a deep breath.

He walks through the woods and out onto the main road. Part of him thinks he's still dreaming when he sees Stiles walking on the opposite side of the street. His pace is slow and unsteady, as if he's drunk. A split second later, Stiles looks over and sees him. To be polite, Derek crosses the street to meet him. He stares at the teenager and immediately remembers the wanton expression he wore in Derek's dream. He shakes it off and asks, "Why are you out so late?"

"Why're _you_?" Stiles retorts.

Yes. He is most certainly drunk.

Derek sighs and nods for Stiles to follow him. "Come on, I'll walk you home."

"M'fine," Stiles mumbles.

Derek doesn't respond to the weak protest. The kid's eyes are puffy. It doesn't take a genius to see that he's having a hard time… but Derek understands why. He was forced to do a lot of things he wouldn't typically do. Those are memories that will stay with him.

The walk is silent and it doesn't take them long to arrive back to the Stilinski residence. Stiles holds Derek's arm, steadying himself with each wobbly step. Derek doesn't shake him off. When they get to the door Stiles starts laughing before being overcome with a wave of pathetic sobs. Derek is at a loss.

"I love you," he says with a drunken, bitter laugh. "I really fucking love you…"

The words shock Derek and he finds himself unable to respond. Finally, he says, "You're not yourself."

"Yeah, fuck you," Stiles whispers. He briskly swipes at his cheeks before before going inside and leaving the wolf alone on his doorstep.

Derek stands, stunned in silence and unsure whether or not he said the right thing. Something tells him he didn't.

* * *

Scott forces Stiles to attend classes again just in time or exams. Neither of them ace finals, but they both pass. When everyone goes out to celebrate, Stiles stays home. His father urges him to be social, but to no avail. Stiles doesn't budge from his bed. He feels out of place with his friends – the people he hurt so badly. He feels disconnected.

He hasn't seen Derek since the night he drunkenly confessed his love. He's been trying not to think about it. Derek clearly didn't believe him.

"_You're not yourself."_

That's what he said and maybe he was right, but there was nothing but truth to the words he spoke. It didn't feel good to have it thrown in his face like that. Drunk or not, it took a lot for him to say it.

Maybe he should go visit Allison again. For some reason, talking and apologizing helped ease him – not a whole lot, but at least it was something.

Late in the evening, he pulls himself out of bed. This time, he puts on his shoes before going out. He's clear-minded though he still feels grievous. Time heals, though wounds of the mind can take much longer. Perhaps that's all he needs. Time.

It's sunny outside and the sun is shining down brightly. It's sobering in comparison to the dimness of his curtained bedroom. Still, he doesn't complain.

When he enters the graveyard, he stands in front of Allison's tombstone. This time, he'll speak coherently. No more drunken ramblings.

"I really am sorry," he apologizes again. "I know I keep saying it – to you, to Scott… to everyone… but I mean it. Though, I suppose if I say it too much it'll eventually just lose its meaning. Having my body literally invaded like that… I feel like it permanently fucked me up. It's kind of like… how sometimes people never recover from drug trips. They get so high they can't come back down. Well, maybe I'm so low I can't get back up."

But he can try… and try he will. He continues to talk, imagining that Allison might be speaking back to him. He's dealt with death before many times in the past. Death continues to touch him. Perhaps it's something no one can run away from. All he can do now is move on.

He takes the long way home. It's dark and when he arrives back, he is greeted by his father who is standing in the kitchen with Derek Hale.

"Hi," he greets.

"H-hi," Stiles returns with a stutter. He's surprised to see Derek – especially like this.

"Derek wanted to check in on you," Mr. Stilinski tells his son.

Stiles forces a somewhat cynical smile. "How nice of him."

Sensing the tension, Mr. Stilinski puts his hands in the air and leaves the room. Stiles huffs, not wanting to be left alone with Derek.

When he's gone, Derek breaks the silence. "I want to talk."

"About…?" Stiles feigns naivety.

"You know what," Derek accuses. "I want to talk about what you said to me the night I brought you home."

"Then talk," Stiles says, crossing his arms and leaning against the countertop.

"I was caught off guard, for one thing," the wolf says. "Apart from that, I assumed you were just too drunk to think straight."

"I was drunk as hell," Stiles agrees, "but I'm not a lying drunk."

Derek sighs, nodding. "I had a dream about you the other night," he decides to admit.

That surprises Stiles. "What happened in it?" he asks.

Derek hesitates.

"Oh," Stiles catches on, laughing nervously. "That kind of dream."

"I didn't know why at first," Derek murmurs. "It wasn't the first time I dreamt about you… but it was the first time the dream took that kind of turn. I guess it gave me something to think about. It made me realize what I wanted… I just wasn't ready to admit it."

"Oh," Stiles says hoarsely. He's shaking. He feels anxious. He's gotten so used to tragedy; he almost doubts the words leaving Derek's mouth. Is it possible for something this good to happen after so much bad? He stares down at the floor, unsure what to say now. Instead of responding directly, he asks, "Want to come upstairs?"

As they leave the kitchen and move up the stairway, they hear Mr. Stilinski call, "No funny business!" Whether he means fighting or sex, Stiles doesn't know. Nonetheless, he shakes it off.

He thinks about the last time Derek was in his room. He teased him and ended up being on the receiving end of the wolf's anger. He'd never admit it out loud, but he spent years trying to dismiss his attraction for the man. There were times he'd overdo it by trying too hard to compensate for his lust.

He sits in the center of his bed while Derek simply stands. "Where were you that night?" he asks. "You never did tell me."

"I was visiting Allison," Stiles decides to admit.

Derek says nothing, but he gives a long nod.

"Sometimes I wonder why it went for me," Stiles murmurs, "but I think the answer is obvious… I'm small and weak."

"You're not weak," Derek offers. "You're strong, just in different ways than me, Scott and Kira…"

"Hm," Stiles muses thoughtfully.

"What now?" Derek asks, taking a step closer.

'Be bold, Stiles,' the teenager thinks to himself. He stares up, reaching a hand and pulling the wolf down by his t-shirt. Their lips meet unsteadily, but neither have any complaints. "I wanted to do that for a long damn time," he admits when they part.

Derek smiles and it isn't one of those handsome but fake smiles that Stiles is so accustomed to seeing… It's a real smile and it's directed towards him. It causes his heart to beat even faster than it already is.

Without a word, Stiles settles in his bed, pulling the covers back to make room for Derek. Still in silence, he dims the lights and slides in next to the teenager. They lie there facing one another, simply admiring each other. Stiles is in awe. Lying next to him is Derek Hale – tall, dark and handsome. In a way, they are polar opposites. He is Stiles – small bones and pale skin.

"Are you all right?" Derek asks.

"No," Stiles admits, "but I will be."

Derek slowly reaches forward, brushing his knuckles across Stiles' jaw.

"What now?" Stiles decides to be the one to ask this time.

"Sleep," Derek says.

Stiles' heart is still beating like a drum, but he tries to calm down. He rolls over, letting Derek's big arms envelop him. He's safe. He's warm. He's forgiven. He'll say farewell to these bad thoughts and when morning comes, he'll try to welcome it with a smile.

**Fin.**


End file.
